Of masks and fear
by Spock99
Summary: Two Characters finding out more as they thought.


**A/N**

**Chaser 1 prompt:** Write about a character(s) being perceived as two-faced but are just misunderstood

**optional prompts:**

holding your head high (phrase)

zodiac (word)

Astrologer (profession)

**words: **2756

**AU first year:** Bellatrix is not in Azkaban and uncondemned for some dubious reasons. Quirrell is OOC, Zachary is my own creation

**Of masks and fear**

Knockturn Alley is a dark place, full of shadows and dark corners. The crooked houses shut out the sun, submerging the whole street into a gloomy half-light. Half of the shop doors are locked for the curious eye, allowing entrance only to those with passwords, appointments or counter-curses. On the top of a set of old stairs made of grey rocks are two doors. One leading to the local tattoo artist, the other leading to the perhaps most public place in Knockturn Alley: The White Wyvern.

The person crazy enough to open a pub in a street that provides room for the shadiest dealings goes by the name of Zachary Randell. Currently, the man with greying brown hair is standing at the bar, polishing glasses. The thick, greasy strands fall into his vision and hide his face. His high, lean frame tells tales of sport and hard work, but also of age and troubles. Nearing the mid-fifties, Zachary is still an imposing man, respected in the Alley and known to be a discreet bartender who doesn't ask a single question.

The man has built himself a small sanctuary amid dark magic and secret business. He is one of those running along the borders of light and dark. Skipping the line in the direction that suits them best right now.

Zachary lets his gaze wander around the room while his hands continue polishing the glass with utmost skill. The room is lit by only a few candles, which are not even bright enough to chase the lurking shadows away. There are three of them on every table, some more above the bar and one floating near the far wall under a stuffed goat head. The head isn't the only decoration, though. Along the walls hang twelve stuffed skins of creatures of all kind. Each one represents one of the zodiac signs. Zachary's passion for Astrology and horoscopes floods the small pub for the customers to see.

There are runes carved into the wooden planks of the floor, some for protection others warding the pub against unwelcomed folk. The telescopes in the window sills can't be seen from the outside because of the dust and grime covering the instruments as well as the glass. Zachary might have led his pub since eternity, but his true profits are the horoscopes he sells to the darker people in the alley. He hasn't made his profession known to many, but to his loyal customers, he is the Astrologer of choice.

Zachary's eye falls on the usual group of drunkards in the darkest corner. They are here no matter what, hoping for the great win of free firewhisky. Every Monday night the candle on the wall is floating under a different zodiac sign. Those born under the respective sign are in for a round of free liquor, or perhaps two if the owner is up to it.

Today those born under the Capricorn sign are the lucky ones. But none of those idiots in the corner is. The trained eye of the Astrologer sees their reckless behavior, the chaos in their heads and the total lack of self-control. Character traits of a Capricorn are exactly the opposite.

Astrology happens while gazing at the stars and Zachary is a master on that field, but the true knowledge comes from the person itself. Experience and the years have taught the pub owner how important human body language and the way of thinking really is. And the man knows how to see, even if he is blind on his left eye.

Tonight, it is a Monday. Not the typical day to go out, therefore the free liquor game. Today there aren't many people around, though. As he gently sets the now shining glass onto the shelf, he sees the reservation list. 'List' might be a bit far-fetched, as there is only one name written on the parchment. The fact that the person reserved a table in a gloomy, almost empty pub in Knockturn Alley is interesting enough. Quirinus Quirrell. He has never been here, or the man would know not to make a reservation.

Zachary smiles to himself and lowers his head again to polish yet another glass. The drunks in the corner begin singing an old Scottish drinking song. The noise fills the small pub and Zachary flicks his wand to put up a silencing spell around them. Now they can sing, and he can keep the relaxing silence.

At three minutes past nine, the front door opens with a loud creak. In steps a tall person clad in a black cloak with a hood drawn over the face. Zachary's eye shoots up as the identification spell announces the newcomer to be Aries. Not a winner today, either. The pub owner expects the person to move to the back of the room, so he is a bit surprised when the person strides to the counter and sits on one of the bar chairs. Slowly, Zachary turns around and puts the glass on the shelf. Then he busies himself with swiping the surfaces. The newcomer will speak. And Zachary will wait.

"There is a table for Quirrell." The woman says. It is clearly a statement as if she knew there was one. Her tone holds a hint of amusement. Zachary grins to himself. The woman knows how things go in Knockturn Alley. The Astrologer looks up at her, but his golden-brown eye can't make out any features under the hood. One of the more dubious characters around here. Time to see who the mysterious lady is.

"There is – Miss…?" He asks, his voice suggesting the question. For a moment or two, there is silence. She doesn't answer and Zachary feels her gaze bore into his skull. He holds her fierce gaze and studys her features thoroughly. After almost a minute, she pushes back her hood to reveal a crazy grin.

"You should know better than to ask a lady after her name in here, Mr. Randall." Bellatrix Lestrange's voice is cold, but not threatening as Zachary expected, but her grin is exactly the opposite. He reads aggression paired with knowledge and a hint of insanity in it. The experienced man doesn't back up, because Zachary likes playing with fire.

"I do, Miss Lestrange. But I like the thought of familiarity in my establishment." He smiles sweetly at her and fixes his gaze on her eyes. His smile widens as he sees the surprise there. Lestrange didn't expect any backtalk from a simple pub owner. Basking in his small victory, Zachary gestures to a table in the nearest corner and resumes polishing glasses. His features are still arranged into a wide grin.

She walks over with her head held high. At her sign, Zachary sends a firewhisky her way. The pub is filled with silence again while both wait for Quirrell to come.

Almost twenty minutes later the door of the White Wyvern is pushed open again. Slowly, the shallow light of the single lantern outside creeps into the room. A long-stretched creak announces the next visitor. The thin man slips in without opening the door fully and closes it almost silently after him. His eyes dart around the room nervously while he looks out for the bartender.

Zachary can't restrain the low chuckle escaping his throat. That man must be Quirrell. The picture is perfect. A man with bright purple robes, a turban, and a table reservation. The indicator charm reveals the man to be a Libra. What brings such a man into Knockturn Alley?

Quirrell comes to the bar and begins to stutter his greetings. Zachary listens and lets the first ten syllables slip his brain before trying to understand the man.

"I b-b-booked a t-table, Sir," Quirrell says. The Astrologer behind the bar looks up and leans onto the counter.

"I know, lad." He growls, enjoying the small flinch Quirrell gives at the last word. Zachary scans the man in front of him carefully. Something is wrong with him. He is uncertain but not only because of the situation. No, he looks like he is waiting for something terrible to happen; his eyes keep darting around as if he is looking for an escape route. Quirrell is actually trembling.

The pub owner straightens up again and leads Quirrell's gaze to the table in the corner. He fixes a smile, a friendly one, on his face and announces in his best waiter voice:

"Your table is over there, Sir. The lady is already seated. I'll send a Butterbeer over in a minute." Quirrell nods curtly and hurries over to Lestrange without so much as a second glance at Zachary.

As soon as he sits, Zachary feels a tingling sensation wash over him. He looks over and spots Lestrange's wand disappearing in her robes again. She tried putting up a privacy ward. Pity they don't work in here because of all those runes on the floor. Zachary's work depends on people, and on knowledge. He wouldn't let go of a chance of gaining inside in such a special meeting as the one happening between the two unequal individuals.

Their voices drift over to Zachary and he concentrates on listening while polishing yet another glass to high perfection.

"W-what do you w-want?" Quirrell asks his posture betraying his discomfort. Lestrange sets her insane grin on full force and leans over the table to the man in purple.

"I want to know what you have done!" she hisses, her hand creeps over the wooden surface towards Quirrell, invading his personal space even more.

"I d-don't know w-what you m-mean." comes the quiet answer. Quirrell's eyes are moving up and down her features in panic. Lestrange leans in closer. Zachary can imagine Quirrell might feel her breath on his face by now.

"I mean, why I feel like I have to be with you since I saw you in Diagon Alley last week." Her voice is even lower than before. Zachary sees Quirrell's trembling increase as he again reaches up to his turban.

Then He does something Zachary would have never expected the uncertain man to do. Quirrell lets his hand wander over the table. Slowly, almost lovingly he lifts his fingers and brushes the tips over Lestrange's left wrist. The moment their bodies make contact, she flinches back as if burned.

A smug grin appears on Quirrell's face. She doesn't pull back her hand, but the distance between them increases abruptly and her eyes widen in shock.

Lestrange is suddenly as pale as the purple robes man in front of her. Zachary's alarm bells ring as he watches their exchange. While the Astrologer is still wondering about what happened before his eyes, Quirrell pulls out a piece of parchment and a quill.

He begins writing down, his quill flying over the paper. Annoyed, Zachary pulls his registers. Information comes not without effort. The Astrologer turns around so the two can only see his back. Then he leans into the bar and closes his eyes. A murmured hex lets his head spin for a moment before he opens his eyes again.

Nothing changed for the onlooker. But For the bartender, his vision has changed. Now his working eye is trained on his task before him but in his mind, he can see the parchment lying under him. That feed needed much time to figure out, but now, Zachary can transfer part of his vision to each of the stuffed zodiac signs on the walls.

As it happens, above Lestrange's and Quirrell's table hangs a Pegasus head. The black eyes unseeing in death are a means to an end for Zachary. The Pegasus symbolizes the Libra sign. How ironic to spy on Quirrell through his own zodiac sign.

Zachary glances onto the parchment and stifles a gasp as he reads what is written there.

_We can't talk aloud. HE's hears everything. HE forced me into submission. HE is under my turban. Right now, he is too weak to take over my body while I'm awake, but at night, my defenses are down, and I can't control myself._

Aloud he says: "A friend of ours wants to meet you. He needs somewhere staying from next month onwards. My place isn't suitable anymore, so he asked me to bring you to him. You are to be his host, and I will remain teaching at Hogwarts." The stuttering is gone, his voice is cold. Suddenly Quirrell is the exact opposite of the man opening the door a few minutes ago. Libras are known to be indecisive and for trying to avoid confrontation; they are cooperative and like gentleness. Something's wrong with this man.

Fear blossoms on Lestrange's face. Zachary can see through the eyes of the Pegasus head how her breath quickens and sweat breaks out on her forehead. Quirrell holds up his hand to stop her outburst and touches her hand again. Lestrange flinches once more and grabs the quill hastily.

She begins scribbling away on the parchment.

_How? I can't! How dare you asking!_

"I would love helping our old friend, Quirinus." Bellatrix smiles sweetly at the man, but her voice betrays her fear. Quirrell smirks as if she made a joke and takes up writing again.

_Scared? I thought you were his favorite…_

She glares at him and shakes her head. The motion is almost unnoticeable. As she begins writing again, her hand shakes violently.

_You know nothing. What he does is insane!_

Then Bellatrix underlines the word Scared in his sentence and writes:

_Yes. I am terrified of what he will do. I am horrified at what I have done to serve him and of what he forced me to do._

With that, she throws the quill down onto the table and leans back. Her arms are crossed over her chest tightly and her face lies in the shadows. Suddenly Quirrell can see a tear escaping her. Her shell cracked. The touch to her skin with the dark magic radiating from the Dark Lord's mind in enough to frighten her.

Quirinus feels the Dark Lord push against his mind but refuses to let him take over. Against all assumptions, Quirinus Quirrell is a clever man. He went out learning dark magic and succeeded in finding a master, and a master he's got now. Quirrell is now a fallen Ravenclaw in the hands of a dark sorcerer, but still in his own mind.

Quirrell struggles against a force threatening to overwhelm At Bellatrix, he isn't the only one continuously misjudged by society. He leans back in his chair as well, then he picks his next words carefully.

"Don't worry, he will be easy to please a guest. I will tell him you are amenable." Fear turns into horror on Lestrange's face while Quirrell looks pleased and almost relieved.

With that he writes down his last sentence:

_We are seldom what we are thought to be. I know more about being entitled two-facedly than any other right now. We'll hold our heads high until HE is gone from the face of the earth and we will be the ones we are meant to be again._

Quirrell grabs his robes and stands from the chair. Gone is his sharp, urging tone and his squared shoulders. He slips into the role of the stuttering, terrified Professor with ease. The pub owner takes a mental note never to cross the purple man on bad terms. That wizard is more dangerous as he lets on. He is deceitful and intelligent enough to hide the fact. Why he acts as he does is a riddle; he might have his reasons, though.

Zachary retreats into his own vision at the very moment Lestrange's bearing slips. When Quirrell places down some galleons on the table and leaves the White Wyvern, Bellatrix draws her hood over her face again to hide the tears of fear.

Zachary watches her from the bar. This Monday night is not like others. Two people revealing their true self to one another, danger coming along and new detail to put into the puzzle of life. Zachary decides to watch the stars tonight. From now on he will look for the future manifested in the horoscopes of Libra and Aries more closely.

After a while, Bellatrix Lestrange stands up, and the parchment is burned with a whispered incendio. Her mask is back in place; all there is to see is the crazy grin Zachary now knows to be her only protection from the evil in the world.


End file.
